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Wednesday, February 1, 2012

A man walks in to a barbershop...

So... in an attempt to be more active (I really hope people are clicking on the hyperlinks), I'm going to try and write more often.  As, with most things, my day-to-day life, while enjoyable, doesn't often provide the best commentary.

Thus, I will regale you all with tales of (mis)adventures that have befallen me throughout my time here (in between all the soul crushing rejection from potential employers).

So... About two saturdays ago, it dawned on me that I needed a haircut.  Now, prior to coming to Norway, I had always gone the efficient (see: cheap) route, I let a family member do it. While that never resulted in a sweet mohawk, it usually worked for me.  As the closest family member is now quite a ways away. I had to resort to commercial means.

Though, it probably goes without mentioning, but haircuts in Oslo are a dicey proposal.  As such, I went over to the other side of town where there were barbers (frisør for my Norwegian speaking friends) who were similar to back home.

After a looooong bus ride, I arrived near Grønland, a heavily immigrant populated neighborhood.  I walked around for some time unable to find a place.  Oh, there were places that cut hair, but they were full of Persian looking men laughing and joking, who suddenly stopped when I poked my head in.

To make matters worse, I had a random interaction with a gentleman who seemingly had recently emigrated from Africa.

Rough transcript of the dialog:

* African Immigrant asks a question in a language I've never heard *
Me: Sorry, I don't know know what you just said?  English?
African Immigrant: You too good for your mother's language?
Me: No.  I'm speaking it now
African Immigrant:  Where you from?  You from America?

At this point, after remembering all the horror stories of identity's being stolen, I decided to exit stage right. To which, he remarked something about money team (shout out to Floyd and Fifty).

I was about ready to call it a disaster and take my chances with the hair studio down the street from our flat.

When I found a nice spot where a friendly, Somalian guy gave me a tight fade and shave!  It was good times.

Not even the -10 celsius weather can impede that.  Well, not entirely...

Rap lyric I'd incorporate into a song if I were a rapper:
Nights out, new friends, I can't remember names/ I stay in Norway, like the 94 winter games

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